


wanna kick it with you all night

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, Office Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, White House era, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13026513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: It's late by the time Tommy gets back to the West Wing, the hour hand on his watch marching grimly past eleven.





	wanna kick it with you all night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisatsel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/gifts).



> hi kisatsel - i stumbled across your podsa prompts in one of the letter spreadsheets and felt super inspired! enjoy, and happy holidays. ty to l for looking this over.
> 
> this story contains a bit of discussion about [tommy's engagement](https://globalgrind.cassiuslife.com/1136949/katie-mccormick-lelyveld-tommy-vietor-engaged-in-paris/) to katie mccormick lelyveld, michelle obama's former press secretary, and [their subsequent split](http://voices.washingtonpost.com/reliable-source/2009/12/love_etc_peter_orszag_and_cnbc.html), so if that's not your thing, maybe give this one a pass. title from all night by big boi.

It's late by the time Tommy gets back to the West Wing, the hour hand on his watch marching grimly past eleven. The President has already left for the residence; the halls stand silent. It was a slow news day, which means everyone but the most essential staff were out by seven. Tommy's only still on the clock because he had a meeting on the Hill about Haiti relief efforts that ended up going long.

He doesn't mind, though. He actually kind of loves being here after hours, when virtually no one else is around. It's just — peaceful, walking past the paintings mounted on the walls, the only noise coming from his shoes squeaking against the tile. Every other time of day, this place is full of life, chatter, the hustle and bustle of bureaucracy. The rare moments when these hallowed halls are still and quiet feel precious. Like something to be treasured.

Even if Tommy was home at this hour, he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, mind constantly doing cartwheels, thinking about the agenda for the next day, preparing statements for crises that haven't even happened yet. "You're a workaholic," Katie noted drily when they first started dating, still an endearing quality then. It was one of the last things she said to him, too, before they split up for good in November.

A month and a half doesn't seem like adequate time to get over someone, but it's long enough that Tommy doesn't feel quite as much of a punch in the gut every time he thinks about it.

He shoulders his messenger bag and turns the corner toward the offices. He's memorized the way to the speechwriters' wing at this point, could navigate it blindfolded. The lights are still on in this section of the building, which Tommy expected. The State of the Union address is in a week, so it's getting to be crunch time. Lovett had texted earlier to say they'd be working late, and to come by if he wanted. The wordsmiths probably won't be getting much sleep these next several days. Tommy knows the feeling well. Maybe he can coax them out for one beer, at least.

The door to Cody and Lovett's office is slightly ajar. Tommy can hear Jon's voice coming from the room, too low to make out any individual words. He doesn't want to interrupt if they're busy with work, which is why he pauses to peek in before pushing through, and — 

Lovett's sitting at the edge of his desk, sneakers dangling inches from the ground. He's smiling — not the typical smirk Tommy's gotten used to over the past year, but something that makes his face look soft, open. Jon's tucked between Lovett's legs, one of his hands squeezing Lovett's hip, standing too close for Tommy to mistake this for anything but what it is. And then they're — kissing, slow but deep, and Tommy flinches backward, ears burning.

It takes him a long moment to gather himself enough to really think. On the other side of the wall, Jon's murmuring again. Tommy can't help wondering how long this has been going on. He and Lovett have been living together at 1309 for over a month now, and Jon's one of his oldest friends from the early days, and yet Tommy hadn't had any idea that something like this might be happening under his nose. Not that it's any of his business, necessarily, but it just feels weird, finding out by accident. Like it was something they thought they had to hide from him.

There's the sound of something rolling and then thudding against the carpet. Lovett's voice is sharper than Jon's, so Tommy can hear him say, "That's what we get for trying to do this on a desk," and Jon laughs. Something about it reminds Tommy of chilly nights back in Chicago, falling asleep on the same shitty mattress at the Pad, trying to catch some shut-eye despite Ronnie's loud snoring. Exchanging frantic handjobs with Jon, when they were bored and desperate and too lazy to go out looking for strangers to get off with. It was easy, back then, to relieve stress with orgasms, cut himself off from his racing thoughts for a while, and Jon was hot and available and convenient. The casual nature of their encounters made sense. So it was easy to end it, too, when Tommy started seeing Katie, but he still remembers the feeling of Jon's mouth against his, the particular weight of Jon's dick against his palm. He can't stop thinking about it now that his mind's gotten here, like a spider caught in a web of its own making.

Someone's breathing hard inside the office, or maybe they both are, and Tommy's face goes even warmer. He swallows around the feeling. He's glad Jon's found someone, despite the questionable ethics of hooking up with one of your direct reports. Lovett's — Lovett, sharp and witty and motor-mouthed and infuriating sometimes, especially when the recycling bin at the house starts overflowing with empty cans of Diet Coke. They've all come a long way since the primaries. He and Jon spur one another on, challenge each other, keep the same crazy hours. It's a good match, and being jealous is stupid, because there's nothing to be jealous of, except that Tommy and Katie were both press secretaries and still couldn't make it work.

It's — fine. Tommy's fine. He fumbles with his Blackberry, nearly drops it before he manages to navigate to his text messages. _You guys still at the office?_ he sends Lovett, and — doesn't hear Lovett's phone buzz across his desk like it should have. He must've switched it on silent, damn it. It's not like Tommy can just barge in. The wisest course of action would be to go home, stare at the ceiling for a couple of hours before falling into fitful sleep, but some tug in his stomach makes him release a quiet breath into the hallway and then draw closer to the door again, pulled toward it like a magnet.

Jon and Lovett are kissing more insistently now, and Tommy has to curl his hands into fists, fingernails biting into his palms, to keep from making a noise. Tommy really, really shouldn't be watching this, but the hot push of shame in his throat is overpowered by the way his stomach clenches, how his traitorous dick stirs in his pants. Just a few more seconds, and then he'll go. He'll forget all of this.

He hears the jangling of Jon's belt buckle, something unzipping, and then Lovett sighs, his head lolling against his shoulder, eyes sliding shut. Tommy's mouth feels too dry, and his heart is beating too fast. He watches Jon's broad shoulders flex beneath his dress shirt, the rhythmic movement of his arm, and has to press his hand flat against his crotch to take the edge off. Has to grit his teeth against the desire rising in his chest.

It's too soon to be feeling anything like this, but maybe Tommy's just lonely. A broken engagement will do that. Or maybe walking back to the office to see if two of his friends will go drinking with him and stumbling upon them in a compromising position makes him want things that he shouldn't, things he hasn't thought about in ages.

Maybe Tommy just really needs to get laid. It's probably that.

Lovett's making these little gasps, now, ones that make Tommy curious, despite himself, what he would sound like if Jon slid down and blew him, quick and dirty, like they used to on the road. Tommy's brain never knows when to shut off, always has to take things to the next level, and the next. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites it, hard, trying to use the sting to stave off arousal. He's pretty sure it only serves to contribute.

"Fuck, Jon," Lovett groans, and Jon dips his head to suck a mark into Lovett's neck — 

Which is when Tommy's Blackberry goes off. The buzzing is far too loud, and he does make a noise when he jerks away from the door this time, shoes squeaking against the floor. _Fuck_ , he thinks, lifting his phone to his ear, free hand scraping across his eyes, suddenly light-headed.

"Tommy?" comes Ben's voice, fuzzy over the line.

Tommy swallows thickly. "Hey, yeah, can I call you back?" he says, words tripping over each other in his haste to get them out. "Give me like half an hour." He hangs up before Ben can respond, which he makes a mental note to apologize for later.

He takes a deep breath, and then another. Stupid, stupid — he should've just switched his phone off. In his defense, he was rather distracted. His phone buzzes in his hand again, and he almost laughs when he sees that Lovett's messaged him back. _Yeah, we're here, come over_ , it says, which — okay. Maybe they would've been finished by then, if Tommy hadn't interrupted them.

When he turns around, the office door is eased all the way open, and Jon's poking his head out. His shirt is buttoned up wrong and his face is pink and his mouth is bitten red. He still looks insufferably good, because of course he does. "Tom," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"Hi," Tommy says lamely, and clears his throat. "I just got back from the Capitol, but you guys seem busy, so I'm gonna head back home first. Tell Lovett — "

"You should come in," Jon interrupts, which is — not what Tommy was expecting at all.

"What?" Tommy says faintly.

Jon steps back, beckons with one hand, and disappears from view. Tommy blinks a couple of times and follows after, too dazed and curious for his own good.

Inside, Lovett's sitting on one of the couches, cross-legged with a throw pillow positioned strategically on his lap, fiddling with his phone. He looks rumpled, but then, he always looks pretty rumpled, so that isn't saying much. He glances up when Tommy sets his bag on the coffee table and sits down at the other end of the couch, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Um," Tommy says, and starts turning red despite himself.

"I told you he saw us," Lovett says, and Tommy blurts out, "Sorry!" almost before Lovett can even finish getting the sentence out.

Jon raises his eyebrows. "Why are you sorry?"

"I didn't mean to stay and watch," Tommy mumbles, covering his face with his hands, as if it'll be easier to admit when he doesn't have to look at anyone. "Obviously you guys are free to do — whatever you want without me being a huge creep. Shit." Lovett starts laughing, the couch shifting a little, and Tommy peeks through his fingers. Lovett's scooted close enough that Tommy can see the fine sheen of sweat gathered at his brow. "What?"

"You're so serious, Tommy," he says, shaking his head. "I can't believe you two used to fuck."

"Lovett," Jon says, half-laughing and half-sighing, and Tommy goes rigid.

"That was, um, a long time ago," he says, looking down and away. Of course Jon told Lovett, because they're close enough to share those kinds of secrets with each other, now. And yet Tommy's sitting here, just learning about everything else. Being out of the loop doesn't feel great. Maybe part of that is Tommy's fault, though, checking out and drawing away these last several months, trying to fix things with Katie before he realized they might be too messed up to fix. They'd left too much unsaid between them. Perhaps flying to Paris to propose wasn't the grand romantic gesture he'd thought it was, but a last-ditch attempt to save them.

Sometimes two people just weren't meant to be together, and it wasn't anyone's fault. It just was.

"Hey," comes Lovett's voice, as if from very far off, cutting through the parade of bullshit storming through his head. "Tommy."

There's a small hand on his face, cupping his cheek, and Tommy leans into the touch without thinking. Lovett's biting his lip when their eyes meet again, and the cushion's slid off his lap. He leans forward, cautious, and presses his mouth against the corner of Tommy's.

Tommy lets out a long breath when Lovett pulls back. "What was that for?"

Lovett's gaze flicks up and to the side to meet Jon's before coming back to rest on Tommy. "You looked like you needed it." He taps Tommy's skin with his fingers, like he's playing piano across his cheekbone. "Tommy, your dark circles have gotten twice as large as they used to be in the past month." His eyes narrow, shrewd. "How many hours of sleep have you been getting?"

"I don't get how that's relevant," Tommy mutters, leaning back.

"Favs said you always sleep better after — you know," Lovett says, and makes a jerk-off motion with his free hand. Tommy feels himself flush again. Jon shrugs helplessly.

"How much did you actually tell him?" Tommy huffs, and it comes out less accusatory than he wanted it to. Mostly he thinks he just sounds tired, which is true enough.

Lovett shakes his head. "It's not his fault. I was being obnoxious about it, because I was worried about you," he says, the kind of flippant sincerity that Lovett's best at. Tommy feels kind of touched, despite everything.

"We just want to help," Jon puts in quietly. He crosses his arms, leaning back against Lovett's desk, and just looks at Tommy, earnest and imploring, as if he knows every thought passing through Tommy's mind right now. It must be written all over his face.

"I don't need pity," Tommy says.

Lovett snorts. "Who says you need pity?" He leans back in and kisses Tommy longer this time, more adamant, the warmth of his mouth lingering even after he pulls away. Tommy feels dazed all over again, reeling. It's possible that he's been so bottled up in his own thoughts that the lack of human touch has messed him up a little. Like he's a black hole now, desperate for any hint of affection. "Hey," Lovett says, voice breaking around the word. "We want to help. We think this will help." He pauses, and then: "You stayed and you watched. Why do you think I told you to come by if we didn't want you here?"

Tommy frowns. "I thought you guys had just gotten — distracted, or whatever."

"I mean, we had, but." Lovett shrugs, like it's that easy. "You're always welcome, Tommy."

Tommy tries not to think through the implications of such a simple statement, and can't. "That's not fair to you," he tries weakly. "I can't just — use you whenever I need it."

Jon pushes off Lovett's desk and comes over, slides a hand around the back of Tommy's neck. "Do you really think we're doing anything we don't want to?"

When Tommy glances at Lovett again, Lovett's smiling, eyes crinkled. He reaches out to squeeze Tommy's knee. "What are friends for?"

The inside of Tommy's rib cage feels scraped raw. He sags, eyes sliding shut for a moment, just reveling in the feeling of hands on him, twin anchors holding him down. He's pretty sure this isn't just a thing friends do for each other, that the feeling in his chest means more than that, but he's okay with pretending for one night, at least.

When he opens his mouth, his voice comes out admirably level. "What did you have in mind?"

Lovett's smile turns fierce, and Tommy's stomach swoops. Lovett leans in again, mouth slanting over Tommy's, warm and wet. Lovett's tongue probes the seam of Tommy's lips and, once granted entry, slides up to caress the roof of his mouth. He tastes like soda and coffee, which is an odd combination, but not enough that Tommy wants to stop. He feels himself starting to relax, until —

Jon's slid down to his knees on the floor, and his hands have wandered to the fly on Tommy's slacks. Tommy gasps against Lovett's mouth and breaks away a little, eyes wide. "Are you sure?" he murmurs.

Jon unzips him and laughs, rolling his eyes. "Always so considerate, Tom," he says, sounding too fond, and nuzzles Tommy through his boxer-briefs. Tommy's breath hitches in his chest. Lovett slides a hand along Tommy's cheek again, turns his face. He presses their mouths together once more as Jon's hands dive past the elastic of Tommy's underwear and start jacking him off. Tommy can't help the needy noise that tumbles out of his mouth. Lovett swallows it with a kiss, and the next sound Tommy makes when Jon fits his lips around the tip of Tommy's dick.

After all these years, Jon still remembers, somehow, all the little things Tommy likes in a blowjob. He was always a quick study, learned early on that Tommy came hardest whenever Jon used a little bit of teeth, when he went slow enough that each centimeter he sank down felt excruciating.

Tommy reaches out to cup Jon's neck when Lovett trails away to kiss his jaw, the soft skin behind his ear. He remembers what Jon likes, too: fingers digging into his skin just this side of too hard, nails scratching across his scalp. Jon's mouth is so fucking warm around Tommy, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. His gaze is dark and heavy when he meets Tommy's eyes again.

"That's it, Favs," Lovett murmurs, tilting his head so that it's resting against Tommy's shoulder, pressed close along his side, and something about the quality of Lovett's voice makes Tommy feel like he's on fire. "You look so fucking good with Tommy's dick in your mouth, holy shit." Jon hums, and his fingers clamp around Tommy's hip bones hard enough that they're definitely going to leave bruises. One of Lovett's hands moves down to undo his jeans, slides past the waistband of his boxers.

Tommy barely has the brainpower left to decide what to watch, the obscene, wet bob of Jon's mouth around his dick, or the desperate tug of Lovett's hand in his underwear. Either way, it's not going to take him long at all to come; he's still too keyed up from earlier, when he was just watching. "Jon," Tommy croaks, and feels a heady rush when both of them make noises. "I'm gonna — fuck, Jon — "

Jon's hands flex around his hips, holding him still as his legs shake. "Swallow, Favs," Lovett says, voice unsteady, and Tommy turns his head, groans against Lovett's hair. "Wouldn't want to mess up the couch. Cody would be so mad."

Jon makes a muffled noise around Tommy's dick and presses so close that his nose nudges against the skin below Tommy's navel, the snarl of golden hair there. He sucks one more time, hard, teeth edging along the vein, and Tommy comes with a choked shout, stomach clenching so hard he can barely breathe.

The surge of endorphins makes Tommy go slack against the couch. He watches, eyes half-lidded, as Jon rides through Tommy's orgasm, exhaling loudly through his nose. Tommy squeezes Jon's neck, trails his hand up. Even the touch of his finger along the edge of Jon's ear feels charged. Jon squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before he pulls back, coughing a little, a string of saliva and come connecting his lower lip to the tip of Tommy's dick. His throat works as he wipes his mouth, and Tommy's satisfaction tingles all the way down to his toes.

"C'mere," Lovett murmurs, making grabby hands, and Jon climbs into his lap, lets him jerk them off together. They look good, sound good, the slick noise of Lovett's hand punctuated by their soft sighing, and Tommy drops his gaze down to watch, arrested.

"If I could get it up again…" he says before he can stop himself, too sex-stupid to reinstate his verbal filter.

They don't seem to mind. Lovett huffs, amused. "Greedy," Jon chides, voice raspy, but he's laughing as he comes.

 

 

Lovett wanders off to the bathroom, after, to get them stuff to clean up with. Jon leans back, and they stare up at the ceiling for a minute in companionable silence. "So you and Lovett, huh," Tommy says eventually, and hears Jon exhale.

"It kind of just happened," Jon says, shifting against the couch. "Pretty recently. You were — it seemed like you were dealing with a lot of your own shit, so we didn't want to — "

"Yeah," Tommy says quietly. "I get it." He clears his throat. "I'm glad I know now." _I'm glad you're letting me be part of this_ , he doesn't say, but he thinks Jon understands, anyway.

"Know what?" Lovett says, dumping a handful of damp paper towels in each of their laps. Jon starts wiping himself off, wincing.

Tommy balls up one paper towel and tosses it back at Lovett's head. "That you're such an exhibitionist," he returns without missing a beat, and Lovett lets out an appreciative bark of laughter.

"Ah, there's the Tommy we all know and love," he says, and then leers. "Only when you're around, babe."

Tommy can feel himself starting to turn red again and shakes his head.

"How do you feel?" Jon asks a minute later, more serious.

Exhaustion is starting to take over, spreading up from Tommy's heavy feet until his arms feel like lead against the couch. Jon wasn't lying when he said sex helped with the insomnia. "Tired as hell," Tommy admits.

Lovett disappears behind his desk and comes back out with a heavy comforter. Jon gets up and pats his vacated seat, like he wants Tommy to just stretch out and sleep here.

"Wait," Tommy says, trying to protest around a yawn. "What about you guys?"

"Shh," Lovett says, draping the blanket over Tommy, and makes a face. "We've got plenty of work to do. Don't worry about it."

"Sleep," Jon says, voice firm. Tommy does.

 

 

The next morning, Tommy wakes up with the sun for the first time in weeks. His neck is stiff and his back feels weird from sleeping on a lumpy couch all night, but it's the most well-rested he's felt since the end of November, and that's something. He cracks an eye open and sees Lovett guzzling Diet Coke at his desk, hears the rhythmic thump of Jon's stress ball against the floor.

"We need to rework this part Cody wrote about the bipartisan committee," Lovett says. "It's too dry."

"Cody's not going to be very happy about that," Tommy mumbles, sitting up and stretching, his neck cracking like a gunshot. His hair must be a disaster. Hopefully he can comb it out in the bathroom.

"Morning," Jon says. He's sitting on the floor next to the coffee table, the complete pages of their speech spread out before him like a tapestry. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well, thanks," Tommy says. He stands, swaying a little, and starts folding the comforter automatically.

"Nope, I'm tagging in for a nap," Lovett says, sliding out of his chair and taking the blanket for himself. He sizes Tommy up for a moment, searching his face, eyes bright. He must find what he's looking for, because he steps close and gets up on his toes, presses his mouth against Tommy's, emphatic, the physical equivalent of an exclamation point.

Tommy touches a finger to his lips after Lovett pulls back. "What was that for?" he asks.

"Looked like you needed it," Lovett says, the corner of his mouth rising. Tommy looks at Jon, who grins and shrugs. A bit of that hollow feeling from last night is back in Tommy's chest, scraping up toward his throat, and he recognizes it for what it is this time: vulnerability. Staring into the face of the unknown, acknowledging the danger, and embracing it anyway. Something about it makes him feel invincible.

They'll have to talk about it more, later, and things are still probably going to suck for a while, but for now — this is good. Tommy can let himself be a little selfish. "Yeah," he says, ruffling a hand through his hair. "You weren't wrong, either time."

They just look at each other for another moment, caught in the newness of it, Jon's eyes soft, Lovett's smile stretching wider. Tommy doesn't know what his face is doing, but it must be something stupid. Then: "Cody's ETA is like ten minutes," Lovett says briskly. "If you want to get to your office and change into your backup suit without having to do a complete walk of shame, you should leave now."

"Kicking me to the curb already?" Tommy says, grabbing his chest. "I'm hurt."

"You'll live," Lovett says, rolling his eyes. He kisses Tommy one more time before he goes, though, so. Lovett talks a good game, but Tommy knows better.

In the hallway, the White House is starting to show signs of life: the opening and closing of doors, the patter of footsteps on tile, sun shining in through the windows. There's a pep in Tommy's step as he walks out.


End file.
